


The Play

by sam80853



Category: Slings & Arrows, due South
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam80853/pseuds/sam80853
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser and Ray are getting cast in Geoffrey Tennant's "Romeo & Julian"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Play

Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whole misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

The Play

The world is turning upside-down; I knew it would happen someday. You just come to expect the unexpected when working with a Canadian.

I'm sittin' in the Ice Queen's office, a cup of tea in front of me, tryin' not to scream out loud while listnin' to Fraser and the Ice Queen talk about one Geoffrey Tennant and this English writer Shakespeare. Even Welsh - did I mention that he's here as well - is into it, which makes the whole situation even weirder - Two Canadians and one American gettin' hot by talkin' about a dead poet or whatever this guy was?

When I woke up this morning, my world was normal - well, normal for me - then I get a call from Turnbull asking me to come over to the consulate.

"Please detective, your presence is needed with the utmost urgency. We seem to have a situation."

That is when everything started flipping.

First I was freaked out that Fraser might have done some stupid shit while I was sleepin', but he was okay, as it turned out.

Now it's a coupla hours since I got that call, and as far as I understand here (and it's really hard to follow) is that in New Burbage, Canada, a guy named Tennant got threatened, more than once and that Fraser's mission is to keep that Canadian genius safe.

It took me some time to get why it had to be Fraser and me, but as it turns out there is an American superstar involved who, by the way, I never heard of, and now I'm the one li... lias... you know, that thing Fraser is doing with me. Ha! I wish. But you know what I mean. Fraser of course has heard of the guy, says he was quite tremendous in Hamlet a couple of years ago and how the hell does he know anyway? I mean he's been in Chicago for years, do they send him and every other Canadian who's out of the country a videotape to keep 'em up to date on stuff like that?

~::~::~

"So where is this place?" I ask when we finally have all our stuff packed into the GTO - Fraser of course just needed a second or two to grab his stuff, like he's prepared to leave the country on short notice. But me? I need some time to think things through, y'know.

"I don't know, Ray," Fraser rubs his eyebrow, holding the seat for Dief before he settles in himself. "It's just known as the place where Geoffrey Tennant's theatre is situated."

"You dunno? How do we get there then?"

"We will, Ray. We will."

"But ...," I start the engine, heading out of town to God knows where.

"It's not important, Ray," Fraser says, annoying the hell out of me. "The important thing is to go due north".

I dunno how many borders of how many provinces we cross - except the one into Canada, `course - and I dunno how often I hear Fraser say `due North' or tell one of his so useful Inuit stories, before there is suddenly a sign saying `Welcome to New Burbage', thank God.

~::~::~

The theatre isn't hard to find - it's a small town and there is a crowd outside, swaying banners in protest against Tennant's "Romeo & Julian".

"I thought you Canadians were so open-minded about stuff," I frown at the crowd before looking at Fraser who tugs at his collar in embarrassment.

"It's a misapprehension, Ray. Like Americans, we are ordinary people with active prejudices, although I'm a bit taken aback with the vehement protest against this particular play." Fraser rubs his eyebrow with his right thumb. "You see, this is not the first time a director has chosen this route of interpretation for this particular play."

"Really?"

"Certainly, Ray. There have been many variations of this particular theme," Fraser just gets into his story telling mood. "This play has been around for over four hundred years, the first known public performance of Romeo and Juliet was in 1662, staged by William Davenant, the poet and playwright who insisted that he was Shakespeare's illegitimate son," he clears his throat, stating in his own way that he doesn't believe it one bit. "The play has remained extremely popular throughout the centuries, but, strangely, producers in the seventeenth century found it necessary to take great literary license with Shakespeare's original work. In some productions, Romeo and Juliet survive their ordeal to live happy, fulfilled lives. And, in 1679, Thomas Otway created a version..."

"Wow," I cut him off.

As much as it never ceases to amaze me what this guy knows I can't listen to his babbling all day long. Otherwise we would never get any work done.

"Romeo & Juliet is the single greatest love story ever written," Fraser says, kinda wistful, then licks his lower lip before he suddenly opens the passenger door and hits the sidewalk.

He leaves me sitting there thinking `the single greatest love story'? Weren't they both dead at the end?

Hell, if a tragic ending is everything you need to write a great love story, then why didn't anyone write "Ray & Stella"? Thanks, but I'd much rather see a `kiss and fade to black' than a `the divorce papers are lying on the kitchen table'.

"Hey, Frase, wait up," I call when I finally get out of the car, Dief on my heels, and Fraser turns to us with a look on his face like he had forgotten for a minute that we were here - like he was somewhere else entirely.

"I'm truly sorry," he apologizes when Dief whines at him, obviously unhappy about the way he was treated.

"Get over it," I growl at the half wolf, tempted to grab Fraser's arm and ... dunno, touch him, reconnect with him.

"Shall we go inside?" Fraser clears his throat.

"Yeah. Yeah, `course," I crack my neck, glaring at the crowd who seem to part before Fraser to let him get through. I hesitate a moment too long so the Fraser Magic doesn't work for me anymore. I get a banner shoved into my face.

Great. Greatness.

I finally push through and meet Fraser at the front desk of the theatre. He's already in full swing of explaining why we're here to this middle aged woman standing behind the desk. When the phone rings and she picks it up, holding up a hand to signal Fraser to wait a second.

"Good morning, Sir," she greets the caller, who obviously isn't a happy customer, if her reaction is any indication.

"This is Anna Conroy," Fraser whispers so as not to interrupt her ongoing conversation and I nod my head, half listening to her.

"I'm truly sorry, Mister...," Anna is about to say, but the caller has obviously hung up on her, because she smiles shyly at us and puts down the receiver. "You must be Detective Kowalski, then." She stretches out her hand and I take it when a very insistent male voice shouts, "Anna!" and she cocks her head apologetically and hurries around her desk towards the voice that's calling her again.

Then she's out of sight and Fraser is rubbing his eyebrow again, looking at me.

"What?" I snap.

"She didn't tell us where we can find Mr. Tennant, Ray."

"Oh. Oh...," I turn on my heels, heading towards what looks like dressing rooms, knocking on the nearest door.

"Ray!" Fraser calls, almost scandalized but I open the door anyway, looking inside and into the face of a very angry woman.

"I'm truly sorry, Ms. Fanshaw," Fraser is right behind me, and I'm wondering if everybody knows everybody in Canada when I see the sign on the door.

Ellen Fanshaw.

"We're looking for Mr. Geoffrey Tennant and we would very much appreciate your ..."

"On stage," she says, turning towards her mirror again, ignoring us - Bitch.

"Ah," Fraser is obviously taken aback by her rudeness, his face flushing, "I see." He tugs at his collar again. "Thank you kindly," and he shuts the door behind us.

"Arrogant bitch," I swear, turning around and around looking out for a sign indicating `stage'.

"Ray! Ray! Ray!"

"She is, Fraser."

"Ms. Fanshaw is a well-known actress, quite tremendous if I may say so," Fraser's cheeks are still flushed like he has a crush on her or something. "We very well may have interrupted her preparation for a performance, Ray."

"She was putting on make-up, Frase," I roll my eyes; really, this man has to find excuses for just everyone.

"Nevertheless. Ray, artists are ..."

"Let's go this way," I run through a small corridor which leads to ... oh, happy me, the stage. But I'm not standing in front of it but on the side line, and thick curtains give way to show a man, pacing back and forth across the stage, his hands waving around insanely, and that makes my hair stand on end.

"Fraser," I don't dare to pronounce more than whisper. "What is this?"

"This", Fraser pauses shortly, probably wanting to create a more dramatic effect, "is Geoffrey Tennant, one of the greatest actors and directors in Canada ever had."

I look at the man with the tousled hair and the mad, if not dangerous, glint in his eye, who is involved, apparently, in an angry conversation with... well, with himself. I look back at Fraser, staring at Tennant, with an expression of admiration, if not awe, on his face.

"Fraser."

"Yes, Ray?"

"Fraser."

"Yes, Ray?"

"I'm scared."

"Oh, don't be silly, Ray."

"Fraser."

"Yes, Ray?"

"Stop repeating my name."

"Understood."

~::~::~

He is driving me insane. Not literally, I hope, but in any other possible way. He is dead. He is no more. He does not have the right to act as if he owned New Burbage.

"No, Oliver, Romeo will be upstage!" I take a deep, deep breath and answer Oliver's "You are so childish" look with my best "Shut up" glare.

"But that doesn't make any sense." Hmm, maybe The Glance needs an upgrade. So I try it with a "Say we are a team and you're dead" stare. Okay, admittedly not the best threat to be using against a ghost, but it's all I have.

I try another deep breath and another attempt to explain. Not that he'll listen or try to understand me. "Romeo will remain upstage because we agreed that..." Suddenly I hear whispering behind me and turn around. Not an unwelcome interruption, for I nearly used the forbidden word of death: "We."

I decide to welcome the two men standing in the wings, because, whoever they are, it's nice to talk to someone who is not dead or an actor or Richard. I'm still a little annoyed with Him, so my "What?" comes out of my mouth a little harsher than I actually intended.

"We're truly sorry to interrupt," the dark haired man in uniform begins and I tilt my head slightly, looking at them curiously. Definitely two guys who draw attention, especially in combination. They must be about the same height, but the blond, a defensive looking man appears to be smaller, probably because of his slightly slouched posture and his lithe physique. His companion looks like the perfect cast for Marc Antony - and I can hear how Oliver lets out a low whistle behind me.

"My name is Constable Benton Fraser, R..," he stops mid-sentence and straightens his lanyard in embarrassment, for reasons I don't understand fully. But then the man in uniform seems to regain his confidence and goes on with his introduction.

"I'm here with Detective Kowalski of the Chicago Police Department and we're in pursuit of ..."

"Richard told me you were coming." I want nothing more than to get away from the stage (because that means getting away from Him), so I ask them to follow me to my office.

I offer them a seat and call for Anna to ask her for a cup of black coffee.

"With cream and sugar?" Anna asks.

"Yeah, black." Then I turn toward the two police officers, lifting an eyebrow in question, but both decline. I catch the Yank staring at Oliver's skull, while the Mountie seems to be oblivious to the fact that a decayed human body part is laying on my desk. Or maybe he's just polite. And talk of the devil, Oliver appears too, leaning against my bookshelf as if I'd invited him. And he's openly ogling Constable Fraser. When the attention of my two guests is diverted by Anna, who reappears with my coffee a second later, I mouth Him a silent "Fuck off!", although I know it's in vain. Well, at least he shuts up for a second, so that I finally have the opportunity to concentrate on the two men sitting in front of me.

But then, right when the constable gives me a polite smile and starts with "Detective Kowalski and I...", we have Oliver's timely entry, right on cue.

"Look at him, Geoffrey!"

My exasperation causes physical pain, I swear, and all I can do is close my eyes, ruffle my hair with my hands and groan, "Not now, please!"

The Mountie and the cop exchange puzzled looks. "Pardon me?"

"He's gorgeous. You should get him on stage, Geoffrey. Really."

A horny ghost and a Mountie in full dress uniform seem to create some kind of synergistic effect that makes my head spin. I'm a guy, I'm not meant for multi-tasking, especially not if it involves talking with two people (OK, one person and a semi-person) at the same time. So I decide to get rid of Oliver first. Idiotic, I know, but I am under enormous stress. "Not NOW!"

Of course neither the Mountie nor Oliver shut up.

"I'm afraid ...

"He is your chance, Geoffrey..."

Ten seconds later I find myself in the prop room, locking the door behind me and feeling the desperate urge to just cry like a baby.

~::~::~

Fraser's staring at the door which closes behind Tennant, dumbfounded and I'm tempted to smile cuz Fraser looking dumbfounded is something you don't get to see every day.

"He's a nut." I shake my head in disbelief - I've been sent to Canada to protect a complete nutcase.

"Ray! Ray! Ray!" Fraser pronounces my name in his irritating manner. "Even if Mr. Tennant had some mental problems in his past, he clearly wouldn't be in such an important position if he were, as you put it, a nut."

"He has a skull on his desk," I point at the head, not daring to touch it cuz it doesn't look like a prop at all. "With After Eights between the teeth."

Fraser, of course, has to touch the skull and I'm horrified that he might lick it next, but he just turns it in his hands, frowning.

"In fact, Ray, it seems to be an actual human skull and not a prop you would expect to find in a place ..."

"Maybe he really is a madman and killed someone to get it."

"Ray, please." if Fraser ever sighed, he would right now. Carefully he puts the skull down as suddenly Anna rushes into the office, looking around in panic.

"Geoffrey?"

"What happened?" Fraser is on his feet ready to help like a good Mountie before I even realise that our conversation is over.

"Jerry fell off the balcony," Anna whispers, already turning around and hurrying along the corridor in search of Geoffrey Tennant.

~::~::~

I'm hunting. Hunting ghosts. No, to be precise, I am hunting one specific ghost. In the prop room. And all I have to do is wait.

Three...

Two...

One...

Okay, maybe a countdown is not that much of a good idea; Oliver has always been unrelia...

"Hello Geoffrey!"

Gahhhhhhh! I hate it when he sneaks up on me like that. It's not that I'm jumpy, I simply don't like it.

"I thought I might find you here."

Oh, the cheek of it! First he criticizes every single one of my stage directions, then he makes a fool of me in front of two complete strangers, and finally he nearly gives me a heart attack. And he screwed my girlfriend, but that's another story. I try to restrain myself.

"Do you have anything sensible to say before I strangle you with this..." I grab the first thing I can reach and wave it threateningly in front of his face, "...pantyhose?"

Oliver wrinkles his nose and flops down on the moth-eaten sofa in the corner. "I must say, those two gentlemen were pretty stunned by your eccentric behaviour."

"Eccentric..." I rub my temples at his brazenness. "Yeah, you're telling me."

He chuckles and seems... flattered?

"However, did you take a closer look at the Mountie?"

"No, I didn't. I think it's enough if one of us drools all over him."

"Ghosts don't drool."

"Ah, they don't?"

"Never. And anyway, one short look should've been enough to tell you that you've found your Julian."

Great, dead and insane. "Oliver." I'm talking to him in the same tone I used when I tried to explain something to Claire. "As you said, he is a Mountie. Not an actor, a Mountie. And do Mounties learn to act in Mountie-school? No, they don't!"

"He's got an aura."

"Oh, come on. An aura. What kind of talk is this?"

The look on Oliver's face changes from cheerful to serious. "I mean it. Remember when Jack played Hamlet?"

I nod. Of course I remember.

Oliver continues. "Everyone thought he couldn't do it. But you saw something in him."

I smile a little, thinking back to my first season as Artistic Director in New Burbage. I nearly forget that I am actually angry with Oliver. So I frown again. "At least he was a trained actor. You can't compare that to someone who has never been on stage or in front of a camera before."

"Well, you can't be sure about that."

"Granted. But even still, this is New Burbage, not some kind of amateurish Province Festival." God, I can't believe I'm saying this. I sound like one of those pseudo-intellectual theatre-snobs I used to despise. And I know that Oliver knows that I just trapped myself here.

"What do you have to lose? Every well-known actor has already turned you down and Jerry? Jerry was amazing as Macbeth that one time, I give you that, but he is not equipped to play our Julian. This performance will be a scandal no matter what. God, it is a scandal already."

I don't really know why, but slowly I start thinking along his lines. Maybe it really was worth a try. As long as we don't have another actor for the lead we can't rehearse properly anyway. I look up at Oliver.

"I see something in him, Geoffrey. Something I think you can bring out."

Neither of us says anything for a while. Then I grin at him. "Admit it; you're just waiting for the opportunity to sneak into his dressing room."

"Oh, please, Geoffrey!" Oliver looks at me with hurt pride. "I am a professional."

I can't restrain myself. "You were."

Oliver makes some sort of snorting noise, and then he vanishes into... wherever he goes when he doesn't hang around here.

"Geoffrey? Geoffrey!" Anna is knocking on the door, and I just know that I'm not done for today.

~::~::~

The stage is filled with people, gathering around a person on the ground when Fraser and I get there, Tennant right on our heels.

"Maria," Tennant calls and a dark haired woman with a headset on comes running towards us, her face pale.

"It's just horrible, Geoffrey," she says and Tennant nods his head impatiently cuz we can see that it's not a happy place around here.

"I've called for an ambulance."

"Good. Good," Tennant leaves her standing and turns to the crowd.

Okay, time for some police action, I think, ignoring all the noises behind me. But when I turn to Fraser to send him investigating, he isn't by my side anymore. No, he's up the balcony already, looking, sniffing and ... licking.

Ew, I hate when he does that.

"Found somethin'?," I call up to him and Fraser leans over the balustrade, looking down to me.

"I found drops of a salty tasting fluids, Ray," he says.

A salty tasting fluid?

I frown at that cuz what kind of criminal would ...?

"Sweat, Ray," Fraser clarifies and jeez, Fraser, I shake my head. "Mr ...," he's about to say when he remembers that he doesn't know Jerry's last name. "Jerry seems to have overbalanced quite a tad," he frowns at that, "or he was quite involved with his performance and fell over the balustrade unintentionally."

"No pushing or somethin' involved?"

"Not that I can see, Ray."

I'm kinda fixed on Fraser up there and almost jump out of my skin when I recognize Tennant standing right beside me, looking up as well an expression on his face like he has found religion or somethin'.

Tennant starts whispering beside me, his voice getting louder, stronger with each syllable: "I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd; Henceforth I never will be Romeo."

I shouldn't be surprised by his outburst, I really shouldn't cuz we are in a theatre after all, but what gets me good is Fraser's voice from the balcony, talking right back to Tennant like he isn't even aware that he's talking.

"What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night, so stumblest on my counsel?"

"By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee: Had I it written. I would tear the word."

"My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words of that tongue's uttering, yet," Fraser seems to get hold of himself just then, clearing his throat in embarrassment. Not that I'm clearly aware of it, no, my heart is racing 100 miles per minute cuz Fraser is looking at me like ... like he was talking to ME.

~::~::~

Images start running through my head, images of Jack and a Mountie, on stage, performing Romeo & Julian.

Some saner person than me would consider it a horror movie but I have a vision. And no alternative at all - necessity is the mother of invention so to speak.

~::~::~

Fraser's still embarrassed about his outburst on that balcony but I have more pressing problems at the moment - one would be my racing heart.

Dammit! Stop beating so damn fast!

But it seems like it has a will of its own and my whole body joins in by tingling all-over. I can't fuckin' believe that I go all wobbly at Fraser talking Shakespeare.

"So, no pushing or somethin'," I say stupidly cuz didn't Fraser just say that? And why does Dief casts me that how-stupid-can-one-human-be look of his anyway?

""It would appear so, Ray," Fraser clears his throat, his right thumb rubbing over his eyebrow, his eye scanning his surroundings like someone might ambush him any second.

Tennant clears his throat then, motioning to a dark haired young man, who comes over.

"Jack Crew," Tennant says, introducing us. "Detective Ray Kowalski and Constable Fraser."

"You're the American," I grin when Jack smiles and shakes my hand.

"And you're the American flatfoot."

I like this guy.

He smiles openly, looks me straight in the eye and let's not forget he's an American, that could make him an asset in this strange country.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crew," Fraser says admiringly. "I, of course, heard about your outstanding performance two years ago." Dief whines at his side, his head cocked. "We heard," Fraser corrects himself, pointing at Dief. "Of course, I had to explain it to Diefenbaker because as skilled as he might be, he has not managed to learn to read. Yet."

"Yadayadayada, you're babbling, Frase," I interrupt rudely, rolling up and down on the balls of my feet.

"Just Jack, Constable," Jack smiles, "And thank you but it's Geoffrey's accomplishment, really."

"I was just the director," Geoffrey says, walking off the stage and we follow suit down the corridor.

He walks straight into his office and takes a seat behind his desk, his hand reaching out for an After Eight hidden in the skull on his desk.

I shiver slightly, trying not to look at his blissed out face when he eats his candy. I wouldn't even eat my beloved M&M's out of that ... thing.

Fraser clears his throat by my side, focusing my attention to him instead of on Geoffrey and the skull.

"What are we going to do, Constable?" Geoffrey asks then.

"Detective Kowalski and I don't have a strategy yet," Fraser answers honestly and I'm ready for whatever way he's going to endanger our lives here, in this, at least for me, foreign country. "But I think its best if Mr ... if Jack makes room for Ray in his home for the time being while Diefenbaker and I go with you."

Diefenbaker, at Fraser's side, looks sceptically at his new host. Maybe he's sensing his sweet breakfast going down the toilet.

"So, it's a nationality thing?" I grin, cocking my head at Fraser questioningly.

"Of course not, Ray," Fraser looks scandalized. "I was merely thinking that you would be more comfortable with another American in a country that's strange to you."

"So, it is. A nationality thing, I mean."

Jack laughs and holds Geoffrey's office door for us on our way out, grinning politely.

"It's contagious," he says and I roll my eyes.

So the four of us fight our way through the protesters once again (really, what kinda genius do you have to be to come up with these incredible goony speaking choirs?) to get Fraser's and my stuff from the goat.

As Jack and I get into the car after Fraser gets his duffle bag and bedroll out of the trunk, I grin a little. Seems like the Fraser-luck has worn off these days - I can look forward to beer, junk food and hockey on TV but God only knows what awaits Fraser and Dief.

~::~::~

God, how I love the theatre, especially at night when no one is here but me ... and Oliver. But not right now, I might add.

This stage was brought alive with productions of Hamlet and Macbeth, with A Midsummer Night's Dream and Romeo & Juliet - plays I was a part of once, plays that excited the audience as much as the actors in them.

I suffered a mental-breakdown on this stage, lost my love and won it back - this place keeps me sane and drives me nuts at the same time.

"I'm terrible sorry to interrupt, Mr. Tennant."

Ah, I forgot that I'm not alone entirely. The Mountie is still with me and probably will be until opening night.

I look at him approaching from the left side of the stage, his dog-wolf by his side - not that the animal would be of any use in the play - and all the pieces fall into place.

He is our Julian.

I can still see him on that balcony, reacting to my words naturally like he was supposed to, his face lost all blankness, when he spoke his lines, looking at his partner and ... looking at his partner?

Thinking back, it's obvious. He wasn't focusing at me during the time he was up in the balcony, but at the Chicago cop. I was only verbally interacting with him. Who would've thought?

But whatever or whoever people decide to do in their bedrooms is none of my business. But it does add an interesting twist to the casting of the play.

I look at him. "Yes, Constable Fraser?"

"We have received further information on Mr. ... Jerry. His right femur is fractured and he has suffered a serious concussion. He'll have to wear a cast for at least six weeks and even after this period of time will not be able to go back to work immediately."

Normally this is really bad news for an artistic director, but I, Geoffrey Tennant, have a plan.

"Constable Fraser, can I talk to you for a moment?" Of course he's much too polite to point out that we're talking already and just gives me a short nod of agreement.

"I think you are aware of the fact that we're searching for a new Julian now."

Another nod.

"And you also know that we have casting difficulties. Or casting at all, for that matter."

He's still with me.

"And here comes my idea." My smile becomes very convincing now. "You are obviously familiar with the play."

"Thank you, Sir." Lord, we have to get rid of that "Sir"-stuff as quickly as possible.

"So my plan is that we stage you in the role of Julian." Before he can interrupt me I quickly keep on talking. "If we do this, we can kill two birds with one stone: I have my Julian and you can still be around bodyguarding. Now..." The horrified look on his face worries me a bit but I decide to push on with it. "So, what do you think?"

"Sir, I... you can't be... with all due respect, Sir, although I feel honoured, I think I don't tha..."

I pat his back and leave my hand between his shoulder blades in a comforting gesture.

"Stop calling me `Sir', please. I'm Geoffrey."

"Yes, Geoffrey, of course... I..."

"What should I call you? Benton? Ben?"

"Most people call me Fraser ... Geoffrey."

"Fraser." I pause for a second, then give him a quick smile and return to the subject. "Don't worry. From what I've seen today, you'll do fine. Now, let me tell you about my concept of the play: Julian is a..."

"Mr. ... Geoffrey." He interrupted me? Boy, he must be really upset. Maybe I should've taken more time talking him into this.

He is pale and takes a deep breath before he continues. "I have no doubt that you will find another actor. Someone who deserves that role."

The dog-wolf whines at him then, and Fraser turns in the direction of his companion, hissing at him to be silent. But obviously the animal thinks differently and barks now.

"You are a disgrace to your species," Fraser whispers annoyed. ""For a few minutes of stardom ...," he shakes his head, "...no one would understand you anyway."

That seems to get to the animal because he turns and trots off the stage.

I'm a little irritated but I have more pressing problems than a Mountie talking with his half-wolf.

"We open in 3 weeks," I go for desperation here, sensing that he might have a weak spot in wanting to help. "I'll never find anyone on short notice and even if I did, wouldn't I endanger his life by bringing him here?"

"No one's life was threatened at this time and ...," he's fighting but I can see him weaken and I go for the final blow.

"Why take chances?"

Fraser rubs his eyebrow then, looking around the stage.

"I shall speak with my Superior Officer then, explaining the situation."

"And so you shall," I smile. "But not tonight. Let's go."

~::~::~

I hate strange beds. I never was any good at sleeping anywhere other than my own bed. Okay, not quite true, but Stella was a long time ago and I don't wanna think about her and ... sleeping.

These days it's just me and my bed, my own bed. Sometimes a concrete floor but that's always Fraser's fault and ... I don't wanna think about Fraser either cuz bed and Fraser are not a good mix.

The couple of beers I had with Jack don't help much to shoo away the image of Fraser in bed and I push down the blanket cuz it's too hot underneath.

Thinking about Fraser and me in bed, the same bed, always gets me hot. Especially when I catch him looking at me like he did on that freakin' balcony and I don't really need that right now. In a strange bed!

When I first realised that I wanted another man that way I totally freaked. I was once married for God's sake! But then I got that it's only Fraser and everybody wants Fraser that way - anyone who says otherwise should go get his pulse checked cuz he/she is dead already - so it's okay ... somehow. Don't ask me why, I was never great with logic, and I don't wanna think about it anyway cuz it's... unpromising ... God, a Fraser word.

Dammit!

These blankets itch and smell funny!

I'm fighting this damn blanket from hell when there is a sound, a small one but still a sound and I reach for my glasses on the nightstand.

That sound again.

Like someone tiptoeing around the kitchen, trying not to wake anyone or ... Gun! I need my gun.

I'm up and at the door in a second, gun in hand and Jack will get a hell of a shock if it's him, hunting for a midnight snack.

It's a woman, standing at the open fridge, rummaging like she owns the place.

"Hold it," I yell, raising my gun. "Right there!"

She shrieks and drops a bottle of milk that falls, spilling its white fluid.

"Who are you?" she looks at me furiously while she's grabbing some paper towels from the counter to clean the mess and I'm standing there, stunned cuz I figure the one with the gun gets to ask the questions.

"Kate," Jack's suddenly behind me, hair tousled from sleep and the woman rushes into his arms, kissing him and I feel ... stupid in just my briefs, standing in the kitchen with my gun and watching some lover's kiss.

"Kate," Jack says when he's finished kissing the woman in his arms. "This is Detective Ray Kowalski from Chicago. Ray, this is Kate, my wife."

"Pleasure to meet you," she smiles, still standing close to her husband and I scratch the back of my neck in embarrassment.

"Sorry," I grin, looking at the mess on the floor. "I thought you were ..."

"A burglar."

"Yeah."

She could have been, y'know cuz what do I know about Canadian perps? Maybe they go for milk and cookies first.

The only Canadian I know is Fraser and okay, the Ice Queen and Turnbull but that doesn't really count and ... Fraser! It's all his fault by keeping me awake, not thinking about anything but him and acting like some nutcase.

"Sorry," I say again and she smiles then, offering me a glass of milk and I accept laughing cuz it would have been rude not to.

So we sit around the kitchen table and Kate starts talking about weird Americans that should offend me cuz in my dictionary `weird' means `Canadian' and ...

"Really Jack," Kate says, frowning, "I don't get how you can stand this business. It's all about tits."

I start coughing up milk at that cuz Fraser would never say such a word and I guess I have to adjust to the fact that some Canadians know how to articulate.

"And bigger. Louder. Whatever."

Jack laughs.

It seems to be an ongoing argument between them and suddenly I feel the urge to leave them alone, to give them some privacy. So I get up, putting my glass in the sink - yeah, I can be neat if necessary.

"'Night," I say, leaving them alone in the dimly lit kitchen.

~::~::~

Having the Mountie by my side as some kind of shield makes it hard for Ellen to go for my throat the second I tell her that Fraser is going to be our Julian.

Not that Ellen is a very considerate person in the first place, but Fraser seems to make her behave. But I don't have that advantage now, in bed.

"I can adapt, you know I can adapt, but there are limits," she complains by my side.

"Ellen!"

"For the love of God, Geoffrey, he's a Mountie!"

"Ellen!"

"No, Geoffrey, really."

"Ellen, he's my Julian. Go to sleep," and I turn on my side, squeezing my eyes tightly shut.

~::~::~

Anna offers me a cup of coffee as soon as I set foot in the theatre.

Nice.

"Constable Fraser told me," she smiles conspiratorially and reaches into her drawer for a pack of M&M's.

"Thanks," I grin, counting 6 before dropping them into my cup.

"You're welcome, Detective Kowalski."

"Ray."

"Ray," she repeats and motions towards Geoffrey's office. "They're already here."

"Thanks again," I say and step into Geoffrey's office to find both men hovering over some letters. "What's up?"

"Ray," Fraser looks up, blushing slightly, like I interrupted something untoward and not just two men reading some letters.

"Detective," Tennant gets up then, looking suspiciously at Fraser before he leaves, muttering something under his breath I don't get and don't care about cuz something is up and it's not just my hair.

"Fraser?"

"Geoffrey was kind enough to let me take a look at these letters," he says as he points at the pile of papers on the desk. "Even though you and I know that writers of threatening letters tend to be harmless individuals..."

"You're jabbering," I interrupt, and Fraser tugs at his collar then, before he cracks his neck.

"So it would appear."

"Don't make me kick you in the head, Frase."

"Geoffrey asked me to take a part in his play."

~::~::~

"Eavesdropping, Geoffrey? I'm disappointed in you, you little devil you."

"Shut up, Oliver," I hiss, keeping my ear to the door because it is important what Ray thinks in the matter. If he says that he won't agree, Fraser won't do it and the play would really be in the shitter.

"What's going on in there anyway?"

"Oliver," I try to hold him back, but he vanishes. "Fuck!"

Perhaps it's time to join the battle, so to speak, and I open my office door carefully.

Ray is pointing at me as soon as I step in. "What were you thinking?"

"Coffee?" I offer and Oliver rolls his eyes, standing behind my desk.

"I don't think more caffeine would help in the matter," Fraser whispers and Ray spins in his direction.

"What?"

"I was merely expressing my..."

"I heard what you said, Fraser."

"Anyone?" I try again.

"No," Ray yells and glares at me.

"Stop it, Geoffrey!" Of course, Oliver has to intervene. "You're agitating him!"

"Ray," Fraser's voice is calm and very patient, like he's talking to a sulking child, "Geoffrey only suggested it so as not to endanger another person's life ..."

"Life, Fraser? I don't see any life in danger here."

It doesn't seem to work because Ray grabs some letters from my desk, holding them up.

"You and I both know that a creep who's writing these letters is not endangering anyone!"

"It's highly unlikely, indeed," Fraser agrees. "But nonetheless, we can't exclude the possibility that he or she may bring, as suggested, the whole theatre down, Ray."

"One point for our Julian, Geoffrey," Oliver cheers.

~::~::~

Fraser tries to shush me, but I barely notice. I can't believe any of this. On the other hand, what can you expect if you put two freaky Canadians together and leave them alone for longer than five minutes? Anything but snafu would be a surprise.

"Therefore, the theatre has to compensate for the loss of an actor; Geoffrey seemed to think it was an option."

"You can't..." I rub my temples, trying to think of a way to tell Fraser that Geoffrey is a headcase without actually calling him a headcase. "Fraser, have you ever acted?" "I'm most certainly not what you would call an actor, but Innusiq and I often enough performed tales and stories when younger." He sounded a little defensive at first, but now his eyes get dreamy. "I remember one time when we dealt with the tale of "K'gssagssuk", the homeless boy who..." "Whoa, whoa, Fraser, chill! Focus here, will you?" It's important to stop him as fast as possible when he gets in that mood. "This is Shakespeare. This is "wilt" and "whither". This is talking to skulls. And most of all, this is not school theatre!" The volume of my voice increases word by word, and Fraser casts a nervous look at Geoffrey, who is standing near his desk, watching us arguing our heads off. Great, Fraser looks hurt now. But really, what's he thinking? "Fraser, this is simply not why we're here! We're bodyguards. I don't think it'll make a good impression if Julian suddenly draws a gun and points it at the audience cuz he spotted some creep, who wants to defend Shakespeare's honour or something!" "Since..." But Geoffrey saves me from a long-winded Fraseresque explanation. "Fellas", he calls to us as if we weren't in the middle of something. "I hate to interrupt but ... can we start with the first rehearsal?" Did that guy even listen to anything I just said? "Of course, Geoffrey." And with that, Fraser leaps to his feet and heads off to the stage. I roll my eyes, strolling behind them. The last time Fraser had been on a stage, he moved as stiffly as a block of wood and looked silly. And why does he have to play the girl? Geoffrey talks theaterspeak for a few minutes, while I take a seat. Then Jack and Fraser take their positions. It's funny to imagine that they'll just start the scene now, on a barren stage, all actors wearing casual clothes, or, in Fraser's case, The Uniform. I snort. Julian. Really. ~::~::~

"All right, we'll just jump right in the deep end, starting with Act 3, Scene 5 - the morning after the wedding night." Ellen looks at me as if I have lost my mind, but obediently leaves the stage. "We don't want to waste more time with table readings, but for now I don't expect any great acting - just grab your text books and see what you can do."

Without further ado, I leave the stage and sit down in front. Fraser looks lost and insecure, but I trust Jack to guide him. Before Fraser can open his mouth to say his first line, Jack raises a hand to stop him. He glances around the stage, then grabs Fraser's arm and leads him to the step at the end of the stage, where the floor is raised to a higher level. He sits on the step and pulls Fraser down, placing him between his legs so that his back is resting against Jacks chest. It's a position that displays trust and intimacy; furthermore both are now facing the audience.

I can see that Jack whispers something, Fraser nods and starts to speak.

"Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day..."

His face shows that he's determined to do this - and that's not good. Not good at all. His voice is too loud, probably because he wants to make sure that the audience can understand what he's saying. But it lacks tenderness and the feel of comfort. With words he tries to persuade Romeo not to leave him, but his body language screams "get me out of here".

Jack's doing well, of course. Jack could have a block of ice as co-star, he'd still be brilliant.

I start getting nervous. I thought Fraser'd warm up after the first lines, but instead he becomes tighter by the second. Fuck.

I look toward Oliver. He just shrugs and nods towards Ray, who is sitting farther in the back in the auditorium, barely recognizable in the dim lighting. I frown at first, not understanding what he... but of course! The other night, the Balcony Scene, Fraser and Ray...

I turn around and beckon Ray to come to me. Us. Whatever. He takes his time, but eventually slouches down in the seat next to me, frowning questioningly. I lay a finger on my lips and motion towards the stage.

It's magic. As soon as Fraser lays his eyes on Ray, his face and voice become softer. Sure, he still has to break eye-contact every now and then to read his lines, but still the effect is more than barely noticeable.

"Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days..."

But these magical moments don't last long. As Fraser becomes aware of what he's doing, his body tenses again. I sigh in frustration. Whatever is going on between Fraser and Ray, it doesn't seem to be easy.

~::~::~

A block of wood.

I'm sitting next to Tennant, who is uncomfortable, too, watching Fraser's "acting". And I feel sorry for Fraser. Big Mountie Superman, who can pull every stunt is failing miserably.

I was right about this being a stupid idea. But it doesn't feel half as good as I thought it would.

Only once he seems to loosen up a tad, but that moment's gone.

I shake my head and look at Tennant. He looks anything but happy. Serves him right. After all, he was the one who convinced Fraser that this was a great idea.

He sighs, gets up, and signals Maria.

"Five minutes break, everyone!"

~::~::~

"Told you," remarks Ellen as she passes us, growling at me and I have to swallow a sarcastic retort.

"Yes, Ellen. Thank you!" At least, I try and then I sigh deeply, sliding lower down into my seat.

"You with her?" Ray asks curiously, and I have to smile.

"Strangely, yes."

So, it obviously wasn't a good idea to force Fraser into this but he seemed so perfect for it the other day.

The other day.

I sit up straight then, looking at Ray beside me and he kind of wriggles under my stare.

"What?"

"Nothing," I say, a thought shaping in my head.

~::~::~

I'm about to kick Tennant in his Canadian head when he suddenly stands up, hands in his already tousled hair.

"Would you come with me, please?" he asks politely and I frown - something is definitely up, I just dunno what.

"'Course," I follow him down the stairs to the stage, Dief right on my heels, like we're going over to a donut shop or something. "Y'know," I say conversationally, "Fraser would be great in a musical." Tennant flinches in front of me. "He sings like a bird."

"I can imagine," he answers like he isn't paying attention.

"Yeah," I whisper kinda to myself, remembering the sight of Fraser on stage with that country singer chick, singing like ... a bird.

It really was great, seeing him there. Okay, not so much seeing than hearing cuz Fraser really has no rhythm. But his voice ... his voice is ... I'm so lost in thoughts that it takes a second or two before I hear Fraser calling my name.

"Ray. Ray! Ray!"

"I hear you, Frase," I growl before I realise that I'm standing on stage, a scriptbook in hand, opposite from Fraser. "Huh?"

"As Geoffrey explained," Fraser says patiently. "Perhaps it would ... relax me to have someone I know read with me."

I lost track of a whole conversation here, mooning over Fraser's voice?

"Please, Ray." Fraser points at my book and I take a look at it, trying to make sense of the words.

"O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet," Fraser reads and I'm about to laugh it off when I look at his face and he's really serious like making fun of Shakespeare is like ... like ... insulting the uniform and I would never do that.

I shrug my shoulders then. I can do this. I can. For Fraser.

"Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?" Thank God, no funny words in this one cuz I don't think I could manage it right about now. Fraser isn't so much reading as looking at me, saying lines I would have never imagined coming out of his mouth.

"Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O! Be some other name: What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself. "

"I ... I ...," I start stuttering, the book shaking in my hand like a leaf. I can't do this, I can't.

"Keep going, Ray," Geoffrey calls and I nod, avoiding Fraser's eyes.

"I take thee ... thee," I look again. Yeah, it's definitely a `thee'. "Thee at ... thy word ... Call me but love," I swallow hard, looking up and into Fraser's face, "and I'll be new baptiz'd; Henceforth I never will be Romeo."

"What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night, so stumblest on my counsel?"

"By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am." That's fuckin' right. I dunno who I am and what I'm doing here, standing on a freakin' stage with Fraser, reading Shakespeare. "My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee: Had I it written. I would tear the word."

~::~::~

I can't pinpoint the exact moment when it stops being just a reading but a play, even if it has just happened before my very eyes.

"I would not for the world they saw thee here," Fraser doesn't hold on to his book anymore, he's glowing from the inside now and Ray is reacting to him like he's unable to do anything else.

"I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes; And but thou love me, let them find me here; My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love."

Of course, Ray still has to read his lines but he's looking more and more at his partner and ...

"If you think what I think you're thinking," Jack whispers in my ear and I turn to him, see the smile on his face.

"It's risky," I say.

"What's not?"

"Two laymen?"

"What the hell," Jack grins. "It's going to be great, Geoffrey and you know it."

"Yes," I nod, taking in the sight of my company sitting silent in their seats, staring at the stage.

~::~::~

Geoffrey must have given Maria a sign cuz suddenly her voice calling for a 15 minute break reaches my ear, and I'm coming back from ... Shakespeare-land.

Jesus!

That was a hell of a ride and Geoffrey has to think so too, the way he's smiling at me. And suddenly it dawns on me what's going on and I step back from Tennant and Fraser, letting go of the book.

"You have to be kiddin' me," I growl, pacing up and down.

"Ray."

"No way." I glare at Tennant.

That guy really is insane if he thinks that he can talk me into this.

"Ray." That's Fraser's soothing voice and I really can't stand his reasons now. So I stomp off the stage, Dief on my heels, and I really hope that at least the furface has the sense left to agree with me. Maybe over a donut or two.

~::~::~

So I leave it to Fraser to talk Ray into this play, I have my own worries. Now that I've finally found my company and am able to really see the play, there is just one thing left.

Richard.

"Jack quit."

Richard is sitting behind his desk, phone receiver in hand and I'm making this as easy for him as possible. I'm not entering his office, I just keep standing in his door way, as if I'm leaving rather than coming in.

"What?" The phone crashes down on the desk. "Geoffrey," he yells and I so do not want to have this discussion with him because I have enough on my plate already.

Richard never seems to understand that the creative process, and a good play, are worth far more than any money we're going to make out of it. It's all about getting people out of their seats, not profit. Of course, we need money, I'm not as insane as one might think, but that's Richard's problem not mine.

"Richard," I sigh, perhaps a bit theatrically, but I was not an actor for nothing. ""Jack resigned to help with the creative process."

"He can't," Richard whines, rising out of his seat. "He has a contract with the festival."

"Richard."

"No, Geoffrey. This is a nightmare, we can't lose Jack."

"It's done, Richard. Water under the bridge."

He drops down onto his chair; I almost pity him.

"Why?" he croaks.

"Why what?"

"Why did he quit?"

"Oh, it's his way of making the play better ... you know, helping with ..."

"... the creative process."

"Exactly."

"Who ... who is going to play his role?"

"Ray."

"Ray?" Richard looks at me in disbelief; I didn't expect him to remember Ray or the Mountie. "Who is Ray?"

"The detective from Chicago."

"What? Geoffrey!" He's out off his chair again.

"Richard, everything will be alright."

"An American policeman, Geoffrey? We're never going to sell any tickets! At all!"

"That might be true, but we'll have a great play," I admit, turning, leaving Richard alone to handle the consequences of my actions.

We were successful once with Jack and we are going to be a hit with Ray - if Fraser can talk him into it, that is.

I'm just about to pass by the front desk when Richard must have fully understood my words because he starts yelling for Anna in a high-pitched voice.

"Anna! Anna!"

And as usual she drops everything and runs, with one apologetic side glance at me, into Richard's office, closing the door behind her.

"Richard," I hear her muted voice through the door. "I thought we agreed not to..." Her words are cut off by something and I grin. Not that not everybody knows about those two; we're in a theatre, surrounded by drama, romance and love.

And ears and eyes which see and hear everything, of course.

~::~::~

They're nuts. Completely nuts. I mean, that they talked Fraser into this (by "they" I mean Tennant and his various multiple personalities) - Okay. Fine with me. Despite Fraser's modest appearance, he shows off all the time. I bet he has an inner longing for getting in the spotlight. Not that he'd ever admit it, of course, but how else can you explain how he ended up on stage with this Canadian singer some time ago? Or that he celebrated a slightly scary ritual with a tribal elder (including make-up, some weird sort of dancing and a thing called "throat-singing") in front of approximately half the population of the Northwest Territories? Besides, he's able to recite most of Shakespeare's plays by heart anyway, so it may be no big deal for him to climb onto a fucking stage and say words like "thou" and "stumblest" and "hither", but he's got no right, no fucking right, to stab me in the back like this.

"Ray, I am sure you would make a stunning appearance on stage." Stunning, right, fucking A. I look around the dressing room - Jack's dressing room, not mine, Jack's, for Chrissakes - looking for something to smash into the mirror, when I hear a polite knock on the door.

"Ray, it's me." Yeah, who could've guessed?

"Fraser, it is not meant personally, but I hate you at the moment, so could you politely fuck off?"

"May I come in?"

"No!" I turn towards the mirror.

After he closes the door behind him, I can see his reflection looking at me and I can predict what his next words will be. His whole... aura or whatever literally screams "I have no idea what you are moping about, but I will apologise anyway."

"Ray, I am sorry if I did anything to upset you. If you would just..."

"No, Fraser, I would not. Just. Leave. Me. Alone." The last words are barely more than a whisper. A threatening whisper, I hope.

"Why don't you tell me what has upset you so much?"

Hm, not threatening enough, as it seems...

"Come on, Fraser, don't try and pull off the "Innocent-Mountie"-tour, I know that one well enough."

"Well, I guess it is because of the play, then."

"You're damn right it is", I burst out and turn towards him. "What the hell was all this about?"

"Obviously, Geoffrey is thinking that Jack is not fitting into the role of Romeo. And although I have to admit that he is a very good actor with a stunning charisma, it is not easy to..."

"And so you decide I should be the one to play his part? What weird Canadian way of thinking is this?"

"It's not weird at all, Ray. You see, the "chemistry" between the leading actors is one of the most important factors when you stage a play."

Yeah, there is chemistry between Fraser and me - we're partners. Damn good partners. But our chemistry comes into action when we bust criminals, not on stage and in costume. "Fraser, it is a love story."

"Yes, it the..."

"...single greatest love story ever written, I get that." I rub my eyes with the fingers of my right hand. I hate it when he goes into "Oblivious"-Mode. Hate it. "Okay. What do we do, Fraser? We chase perps. We rescue people (and fish, in your case) from burning buildings. We watch hockey together. What we don't do, I repeat DO NOT DO, is act!"

He looks at me with a thoughtful look in his eyes. "I am sorry to object, Ray, but I think we act all the time. Especially you in your position as an undercover-detective."

I stare at him. "Fraser, that's not acting, that's just answering the phone differently! That's not talking to skulls or pretending to stab yourself!"

"Then what do you call it when you try to convince a hostage-taker to surrender? When you try to stay calm although your pulse is speeding up rapidly? When you try to appear unconcerned although you know that you and the hostages are in imminent danger? When you promise the captor not to send him to prison, if he releases his hostages?"

"I dunno, lying?"

"That is acting, Ray. It may be acting for dear life, but it is acting!"

"But in that situation I am still myself. I am still Ray Kowalski simply trying to save someone's skinny ass."

"And this is what you have to do on stage. You don't have to think of yourself as Romeo, you just have feel like Romeo felt, think how Romeo thought and say what Romeo said."

I must've lost the thread of this conversation somewhere between "Leave me alone" and now. I tell him I won't take the role and he gives me acting-advice? I missed something here, most probably something real important...

"Ok, so... you tell me to feel like Romeo? How? He's a silly Italian nobleman, I am a smartass Chicago flatfoot. Call me stupid, but I don't get the connection."

"Romeo is in love. He is a passionate, even hot-tempered young man, who pines for his true love, who is willing to get killed just to see her face..."

"And he says stuff like..." I reach for the copy of the script. "..."'Call me but love and I'll be new baptized.'"

"That's just his way of expressing his love, his personality lies beyond the lines, between the lines." Fraser takes a deep breath and finally says. "In fact, I see much of him in you."

Wow. Fraser thinks I am like a Shakespearean hero. Feels good to hear that, though I'd never admit it. However...

"That's not the point, Fraser. The point is: I'm not going to play him. Never ever. You understand me?"

~::~::~

"Geoffrey," Ellen is looking at me from over the brim of her wine glass, "how the hell do you plan to make this work?"

Her look says: "I know you're insane, but this is a form of lunacy that exceeds even your standards."

"What do you want, Ellen?" I'm really NOT in the mood to have this conversation again. "It was brilliant today."

"Yes, after Detective Kickass figured out how to hold the textbook..."

"Ellen, please."

"I'm just saying!"

I order another beer. "Okay, he was stuttering at first, but so what? As you said, he did figure it out in the end."

"Granted, he did know how to make goo-goo eyes at his partner. I guess he'll even manage to stab Paris. But the play's more than that. Besides, what do you think he will do when there's an audience around?"

"There was an audience around today..."

"Come on, Geoffrey. That was us. Actors, the director... has Oliver been around, too, maybe?"

Before I can answer she raises her hands. "No, please, forget that I've asked." Ellen takes a deep breath. "Do you think all this is fun? Do you think that New Burbage is your very own personal playground? Do you think I am a toy? Do you think the other actors are? Do you..."

"No, I don't!" I try to control my voice. "Believe it or not, but there are things in this world I take very seriously. And this play is one of them, but..."

"For heaven's sake, Geoffrey, then stop all this fooling around. Honestly? I know I only play a fucking supporting character in this play, and, before you start rolling your eyes, I'm okay with it."

We both know that's a lie, but I don't bother with objecting.

"But I am a damn actress and it's fucking difficult to work with someone who would most probably take the words "break a leg" literally!"

I jump up, so fiercely that the chair topples down. "Then fucking work harder! It's your job! It's what you did all your life! You worked with fucking Darren "We need a horse on that stage" Nichols! Why do you...?"

"Geoffrey, please stop screaming at me!"

"I am NOT screaming at you!"

"Of course you are!"

"Why do you always try to sabotage my work?" I start pacing now. A small part of my brain notices that the barman is staring at me, along with the rest of the guests, but the much larger part is too annoyed to notice. Also, I am used to it by now. "You don't need other actors to be brilliant. This is not about Kowalski, or the play, or the theatre, this is about me. That's why you're moping around all the time and I won't..."

"Goddammit, Geoffrey! Can't you control your egocentrism, if only for a few minutes?"

"My..." I start laughing. I have to. Either that or I'll strangle her with my bare hands. "My... you are calling me egocentric? The most self-absorbed person on this planet calls me..."

Ellen gets up too. "Grow up, Geoffrey", is all she says, before she rushes out of the bar, leaving me with the bill.

Well. Fuck!

~::~::~

I watch Ellen rush out of the bar, leaving an annoyed Geoffrey behind and I sigh.

"At least one person hasn't lost her mind, yet," I whisper into my beer, glaring over the brim at Fraser, Jack and let's not forget Dief, cuz even the damn wolf thinks that I should get on a fuckin' stage and throw funny words at Fraser.

"Ray..."

"Don't start, Fraser," I stop him right away cuz I know that he can talk me into anything if I let him. "Just don't."

"But Ray..."

"Fraser!" I raise my voice and he rubs his eyebrow, looking at Jack - like Mr. Hollywood would be able to do anything to make a fool of himself.

"I was freaked out of my mind..." Jack is up to something, I can feel it in my gut, "... the first time on that stage," he says, looking into his glass, not at me. Sneaky bastard.

"I'm not freaked out!"

"I puked all over the place, I can tell you."

"I am NOT freaked out."

"John Barrymore, Laurence Olivier", he looks over at the next table and smiles wryly, "...Geoffrey Tennant ... I didn't think that I could do it, that I was good enough to be one of them."

"It's understandable," Fraser says sympathetically and I get the feeling that I'm being played here but unable to do anything to stop it.

"I even ran away," Jack laughs out.

"But you came back."

I'm totally out of it now, like I'm not even here.

"Yeah, I did," Jack takes a sip of his beer. "Couldn't let Geoffrey down. Or Kate ... Kate," he sighs and I wanna kick his head but I get up instead, growling. I hate being called a coward. I'm a fuckin' Chicago cop and not afraid of anything. I jump off fuckin' roofs into God knows how much polluted water without knowing how to swim for Pete's sake!

I reach Geoffrey's table and he looks up at me kinda beat.

"I'm your man." I crack my neck then, feeling like I just signed a pact with the devil.

~::~::~

Ellen took the car. Which means I have to walk all the way from the theatre to her/our house. By the time I arrive I am cold, hungry, tired, footsore and very frustrated.

So when I enter the house I make little effort to be noiseless. After all, Ellen is not the only one who can act grumpily. I ignore the big sign she's placed on the couch saying "Geoffrey" and shed my clothes on my way to the bathroom, simply to annoy her first thing in the morning. There is no way, no fucking way, that I'll be exiled to the couch tonight.

A look at my face in the bathroom mirror tells me that a shave can wait until tomorrow - or until next week, for that matter - so I just brush my teeth and climb into the bed next to Ellen. Her back is facing me and she's breathing slowly and steadily. But I know she's not asleep.

I'm not quite sure how to play it at the beginning, so I simply put my cold feet against her calves - just to invoke a reaction. And to warm up my feet. Canada can be really cold.

And she reacts quickly. Accompanied by a hissing "Geoffrey!" she slaps an arm at me and rolls onto her back, getting her legs away from my feet.

"What?" I hiss back. "You made me walk through the whole fucking town and now you're mad because I'm cold?"

"I'm mad because you're here at all."

"Well, sorry, but I live here, in case you didn't notice!"

She doesn't reply to that and for a minute I'm just lying there, thinking about how to bring this mess to an end.

So often it seemed as if the play were doomed. The protesters (not that I gave a damn about them), Jerry and his leg (not that he was in any way the Julian I wanted for the play), Ray and his unwillingness to play the Romeo (not that I ever doubted Jack and Fraser could bring him to play the role) - and then again one small miracle after the other happened, every time the play seemed lost: I received letters from people telling me how much they liked the idea of the play. Fraser appeared on just the day the thing with Jerry happened. Ray came over at my table tonight to tell me about his decision to be Romeo...

But the thing is, I can't afford to lose Ellen. I need her for the play, sure. Hell, as good as my laymen cast may be, I'd be so on the rocks if I didn't have Ellen and Jack and Frank and all the others.

But most of all I need her, just because I do. Sure, she drives me nuts often enough, but I need her. Lord, I didn't touch another woman for eight years because of her. She turned me into a monk for eight fucking years, simply by not being there. That I had been unhappy in all those years would be the understatement of the century, and I don't want to be unhappy again. It's that simple.

I feel around for her hand and when I touch it she doesn't pull away. Instead she sighs, sounding more resigned than anything else. As if she didn't want to give in, but somehow had to. Because she needs me as much as I need her.

Finally she rolls on her side towards me. "Geoffrey... do you know what you are doing?"

"Did I ever?"

She cocks her head and gives a little "hm"-sound.

"Ellen..." I get onto my side as well, so that I can look at her, "Do you want to be my nurse?"

She buries her face in a pillow and groans. "Do I have a choice?"

~::~::~

"See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek ... wait Fraser, does that mean I wanna be a glove?"

"Well, metaphorically speaking, yes, Ray."

"That's stupid, Fraser."

"No, Ray, it's poetry."

"Yeah, whatever." I skim through the text one more time. "I can't believe you and that other freak talked me into this. There's 200 pages of text, I'm sitting in a prop room, reading "poetry" to a Mountie, and now I wanna be a glove."

"Ray, it's not two hundred pages. And also you don't want to physically transform into a glove, you simply used this metaphor to express your tremendous desire to be close to... Julian. Thus..."

I pull a face. "Fraser. I know it is a metaphor. I know that I'm not Harry Potter, who can turn himself into a piece of clothing if it's convenient and..."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter, Fraser." Suddenly I'm so tired. "All I wanted to say was that this is ridiculous. Do you think Shakespeare imagined two guys groping each other on stage when he wrote this?"

"It is in fact possible that he did, Ray. At the end of the sixteenth century it was prohibited for women to become actresses, because people wanted to avoid any..." - Collar tug - "...lascivious acts between the male and female members of the actors group. You see, theatre and the people working there were supposed to be rather insouciant and undisciplined, so all the female roles were in fact played by men, the so called boy actors. This era of..."

"Wait a minute Fraser, you tell me that the people back then would rather see two guys kissing than a man and a woman?"

"Well, it was not so much about the kissing on stage, but..."

"...but because they were afraid if women hung around with those guys they'd hump each other behind the stage."

"Although I'd use a different way of expressing it: Yes."

"Wow." I sat back a bit and took a deep breath. "Wow, I didn't know that. But the guy who played the Julian, no, Juliet..." Fuck, I'll never get this straight... no, right. Not straight, right! "...he wore a dress? And a wig? Or was he just like, you know, a man?"

"No, no he was dressed like the woman he was pretending to be. Well, of course it always depended on the actor how good the impression he created was."

"Huh." ~::~::~

I poke my head through Richard's door and smile the most lunatic grin I can pull off. It scares him. And for the conversation we are about to have, I need every advantage I can get.

"Geoffrey, come in", he says and waves a hand in the direction of the empty chair in front of his desk. The swollen vein at his temple belies his calm attitude and friendly smile.

So I slouch into the chair, put my brain in "Dealing With Ties"-mode and wait for his rant to come.

Richard skims through a few pages to appear important and gain time, then finally looks at me and starts talking.

"So." Pause. "You asked the Chicago cop to be your Romeo, right?"

"Right."

"And you made a talented, popular, experienced actor Mercutio, right?"

Before I can recite my text, he blows.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

I smile slyly. "Is that a catch question?" He ignores this. As I expected.

"How the hell am I to explain this to the board? They'll crucify me. The press will crucify the theatre. The audience will crucify..." he interrupts himself and laughs bitterly, his chair vacant. "No, the audience won't crucify anyone, because the audience won't even fucking SHOW UP!!!"

Poor Richard seems close to tears now. He turns around and walks over to the window. "This will ruin New Burbage. We have a reputation, you know? And a tradition, a long tradition of high-quality Shakespearean theatre. Do you even know what financial damage you could cause us?"

Yes, I do, but neither do I give a fucking damn about it, nor am I exceptionally keen on explaining this to Richard. So I stay in the role of the crazy, quixotic director and stick a pen into my ear.

He turns around again, but instead of screaming at me he only stares at me open mouthed. Slowly he sinks back on to his chair, his face buried in one hand. With the other he waves at me. "Go, Geoffrey, just... go."

Now I've got him. He's too resigned to contradict, too exhausted to start screaming, too desperate not to clutch any straw I offer him. "Richard, I've got an idea."

"Great," he murmurs.

"We have to give this play back a bit of its respectability." I choose my words carefully. Although I won't admit it publicly - the play isn't as invulnerable as I like to make it seem. I'm well aware of the demonstrators, the reservations of the board and the actors, I've heard some very bad news about the review Basil is going to write - I have to clutch at every straw I can get, too, to keep this thing going. So I need Richard. And Richard is vain.

"How in the name of God do you want to manage that?" He sounds distressed, but I guess that I can hear a glimpse of hope in his voice. And, yes, he lifts his head a little to look at me. I take the pen out of my ear and point it at him.

"You. I need you."

"Me."

"Yes."

Of course the whole respectability thing is crap. But it doesn't matter how I sell it to him as long as it sells.

"You see", I continue, "there is a chorus at the beginning of the first and the second act. It's not big, only a few lines, but wouldn't it be a great idea if you'd say them?"

"Me."

"Yes."

Richard laughs. A sobbing laugh.

"And that'd give the play more respectability?"

"Exactly. You are not an actor, but you are a well-respected person within the theatre scene." It'd be really cruel to start laughing now, wouldn't it?

He frowns and makes another shooing gesture with his hand. "Go, Geoffrey, please. I can't... just go."

I rise and hope that that was enough to hook him. He always wanted to be on stage. Maybe, maybe the temptation to seize this opportunity is strong enough to make him support me. If not, I'm fucked. ~::~::~

"I'm not gonna kiss him!"

We have been rehearsing for what seems like years and my temper is running kinda thin cuz it's fuckin' Shakespeare and no one in this world, okay, my world anyway, should be forced to speak like this. Or kiss someone in front of everyone!

"Ray!" I hear from both Geoffrey and Fraser, and I know that they are as wired as I am. At least Geoffrey is, cuz Fraser ... Fraser's enjoying this. Not this this, but being on stage, acting, talking all Shakespeare.

"I won't," I know I'm acting childish here but ... I can't, end of story.

"Do you find it distasteful to," Fraser blushes slightly at that, "...to kiss me, Ray?"

He's making these puppy eyes and I wanna pop him one for doing so cuz can't he just work with me here? I mean, the way I wanna work here, not him cuz he would ... you know, kiss me. In front of all these people and I'm just not ready for it. Yet.

"Jeez, Frase. `Course not!" I start pacing up and down the stage, my book in hand.

"Then why, Ray? It is certainly an important detail within this scene," I know that everyone is looking at us by now, but I don't fuckin' care.

"I know that but that's not the point."

"What is the point then, Ray?"

"I just ... we ... I mean, I'm not saying that I'm not gonna. Just not right now. `Kay?"

"Ray!"

"Jeez Fraser, I know how to kiss, you know how to kiss. So why practice something we already know how to do?"

"But Ray, we never...

"Fraser!" I'm ready to really kick him in his stubborn head when Geoffrey calls for a break.

"Five minutes everybody," Maria says and everyone rushes off, leaving me alone with Fraser and Geoffrey.

~::~::~

The theatre's unnaturally still the morning after the first preview. I almost got by Richard's office unseen but ... "Geoffrey!" ...of course I can't escape Richard. "What?" "It's a nightmare, Geoffrey," he whines in a high pitched voice, sitting behind his desk. "What is?" "The press," he croaks, pushing a paper in my direction which forces me to actually step into his office. I sigh. "Isn't it always?" "This is serious, Geoffrey," Richard scolds and I grab the paper. Lightning rarely strikes twice in the same place. Eighteen months ago the New Burbage Theatre launched an ensemble of actors with a Shakespearean study of doomed love. But where the last production, directed by Darren Nichols, was a triumph, this Romeo and Julian - yes, you read that correctly - , which introduces another new company - including two police officers, one of them US-American I might add - who have never in their lives stood onstage before, is a muddled, mediocre affair characterised by poor verse-speaking... Once again artistic director Geoffrey Tennant surprises us with his exceptional ill-judged point of view on how a Shakespeare play should be staged. The most powerful tale ever told of love's all consuming impulse, in which two people embark on a fated and ultimately fatal lovers' tryst that catapults them against their world and even against themselves, turns into a debacle in and outside the theatre.

Onstage two laymen and a patchy ensemble stumble through Shakespeare's play while outside ,,We want Shakespeare, not Shakesqueer!" cries split the mind. The one actor with the requisite fire is Stanley Raymond Kowalski, whose Romeo progresses from moping courtly lover to someone spurred by untrammelled sexual desire by his energetic personality. He is almost alone in speaking the verse with intelligent feeling but he operates in a vacuum since his Julian - played by Benton Fraser - is a foot-stamping Violet Elizabeth Bott and Jack Crew is a Celtic babbler. Pace is achieved at the expense of clarity. But the giveaway sign is the way David Keeley's ubiquitous music is used to signal emotion in much the same way as a Morricone score in a spaghetti Western. The production is a disaster... If Tennant wants to evoke a lively, vulnerable adolescent out of his emotional depth, as I think he does, he needs to discover the virtues of simplicity...

"It's a disaster," Richard moans.

"He got their names right at least," I say, crinkling the paper in my hand before I throw it on Richard's desk again. "Basil is an idiot," I state.

"But people won't come to see the play, Geoffrey!"

I frown: "They will," a grin spreads over my face, "just to prove those bigots outside wrong."

~::~::~

"Where the hell is he, Fraser?" I pace up and down, in full-costume, freaked out of my mind and with no freakin' Geoffrey Tennant to scream at for putting me in this fucked up situation.

"Ray!Ray!Ray!"

"Do not do that, Fraser," I growl warningly cuz it wouldn't take much to make me jump here. "Do not, I repeat, do not Ray me, Fraser!"

"Understood."

I pace some more, clearly hearing the audience taking their seats and what the fuck am I doing here?

"Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"I'm gonna puke," I choke, looking around frantically.

"Oh dear."

~::~::~

I'm on my way to the stage; Ray is certainly waiting impatiently by now, with Fraser trying to calm him down, which in my brief experience with the Chicago cop is a lost battle to begin with.

So, I'm not really paying any attention to my surroundings while I hurry down the corridor, when I see Diefenbaker standing in front of me, growling, showing off his fangs, his ears turned back. A wolf. A wild animal.

I never saw him as anything but Fraser's companion, constantly watching over his pack mates while begging for food.

I was mistaken, obviously.

"Diefenbaker," I try to pull my impatient stunt, still getting closer. That makes him growl even deeper in his throat. It seems like his fur is standing on end at the back of his neck.

"Fuck!"

I really have no time for this; I have a play to direct for God's sake.

What did I do to piss him off anyway?

Before I can even voice my question he starts to run, towards me and I'm able to admire his animal grace briefly, not even considering whether to turn and run.

But he isn't aiming for me. He passes by me with a bark and I turn, following his motion to ... Darren Nichols who has some mysterious object in his hands. A closer looks reveals a skull with ... After Eight ... Oliver!

Diefenbaker reaches him before he can throw Oliver's skull in my direction and pins him to the ground, growling.

"Get him off me," Darren shrieks in panic, Oliver's skull forgotten at his side.

"I was wondering when you would show up," I look down on him, smiling, no doubt.

"A cop, Geoffrey," Darren yells furiously now, trying to get rid of Diefenbaker who's sitting on his chest. "An American cop nonetheless," he rants on. "What do Americans know about good theatre, Geoffrey?"

"Since when do you care about good theatre, Darren?" I cock my head slightly, enjoying every second of this.

"It's Shakespeare, Geoffrey, for the love of God!"

"Your slogan," I grin manically down at him, "'We want Shakespeare, not Shakesqueer!' is rather catchy, if not very inventive," and I bend down to catch Oliver's skull.

Nahum, carrying a mop and a bucket, passes by. He completely ignores Darren and just mumbles something like "After Effiong Edem's daughter had married the skull, he spread soft animal skins on the ground because sweet mercy is nobility's true badge," under his breath.

I stare down at Darren, tempted to laugh out loud but turn around instead, leaving him laying on the ground with Diefenbaker on his chest.

"Geoffrey!" he cries out.

"Don't kill him, Dief," I say smiling.

No point in telling Darren that the half-wolf is rather deaf.

~::~::~

Find your light! Find your light! I mutter under my breath. I'm fuckin' standing in my light cuz it's fuckin' hot on my face and I'm sweating so bad my palms would leave freakin' wet spots wherever I touch.

Find your light! Connect!

What the fuck!

I can't remember any line I'm supposed to say and I can barely see a thing on this freakin' stage - the light is so hot and bright.

I can feel the audience's impatience like a living thing and I'm ready to freak when my eyes catch sight of Fraser behind the curtains, watching me, and suddenly my heart starts beating a different rhythm. A rhythm I know, a rhythm I can work with and all pieces fall into place.

It's like that first day when Fraser walked into the bullpen, looking for Vecchio.

"Is the day so young?" I turn towards Patrick, my head spinning but at least my mouth keeps spelling out the right words.

"But new struck nine."

"Ay me! Sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast?"

"It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?"

"Not having that, which having, makes them short."

"In love?"

"Out..."

"Of love?"

"Out of her favour, where I am in love." I know what the guy is talking about - I've been there, went down the road, bought the t-shirt - but it was not the end of everything, losing Stella.

"Here's much to do with hate, but more with love: Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing! Of nothing first create. O heavy lightness I serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, That is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh?"

Yeah, my beloved Stella but I'm over it, I'm over her.

I glance at the curtains again and Fraser's still standing there, looking at me with a gleam in his eyes.

"No, coz, I rather weep."

"Good heart, at what?"

I'm really getting into it now cuz I know this stuff, I lived it.

~::~::~

The Cop's doing well. He's inexperienced and often turns up at the wrong side of the stage but that adds an interesting freshness and need to improvise to the play. Nothing's worse than perfection, I said that to Jack once, and I say it again.

I shake my head. I know he must be scared to death, but he just storms out on the stage and plays his role with desperate determination. He doesn't stutter or pause, he doesn't search for the right position; if he doesn't know where to go, he simply goes wherever he thinks the right direction might be. And no one in the audience notices a thing, because he simply does, without any hesitation, and trusts the others to follow him wherever he goes. He fills the part with so much... life.

No doubt, if he gets into serious trouble because he completely forgets his lines, he won't search for help, he'll simply do something completely unpredictable that distracts the audience until he's on the right track again.

~::~::~

My heart's beating like it wants to make an appearance on stage and my hands tingle - in fact my whole body's tingling cuz how could it not with Fraser standing in front of me, glowing with joy and pride and ...?

"If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this; My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."

I cling to Fraser's hand like a drowning man and he's holding mine like he never wants to let go of me ever again.

The audience, the stage - all of it has disappeared, and as for my part, it could all go to hell.

"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

This is not about the fuckin' play anymore. It's about me and Fraser.

"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"

"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."

He wants me to kiss him and I'm gonna in just a second.

I'm practically shaking with excitement by now and Fraser's looking at my mouth intently, licking his own lips, and that doesn't make it any easier for me not to just grab him and kiss the hell out of him.

"O! then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."

"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."

Fraser's hand is trembling in mine, he's nervous. Maybe he does get that this is not about the play but about him and me, us.

"Then move not, while my prayers' effect I take."

I pull him gently closer, my hands on his face now and ... I kiss him.

God, I'm kissing Fraser!

And he's kissing me. His soft lips move under mine and I grab him by his shoulder, pulling him against my body.

My head starts spinning and no way it's cuz of lack of oxygen.

Fraser's pulling back then and I try to keep him close, keep our lips pressed together - God, I don't want this to end! - but he's out of my reach now.

"Ray," Fraser whispers under his breath, touching my cheek gently and suddenly I get that we're not alone, that we're on stage in the middle of a fuckin' play!

"Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg'd."

"Then have my lips the sin that they have took."

Fraser looks at me from under his eyelashes, teasing me and I start grinning, getting easily back into my role.

"Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd! Give me my sin again."

We kiss again.

No hesitation this time - just a brief touch of our lips. But not brief enough for Fraser to not sneak his warm hand under my shirt, to caress my skin with an unspoken promise of more.

"You kiss by the book."

I smile knowingly cuz no way was that a kiss by any book I know.

"Madam, your mother craves a word with you," Ellen is standing behind Fraser now, kinda destroying the heated atmosphere between us.

"What is her mother?"

"Marry, bachelor, His mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous: I nurs'd his son, that you talk'd withal; I tell you he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks."

"Is he a Capulet? O dear account! My life is my foe's debt."

"Away, be gone; the sport is at the best."

"Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest," and Patrick drags me off the stage, my eyes never leaving Fraser's.

~::~::~

I can feel Ellen approach behind me before she even touches me gently, leaning into my body, her head on my shoulder in an almost unknown tenderness. No doubt thinking about us on that stage ages ago.

"Good work, Geoffrey," she whispers into my ear then and I smile because it's quite an effort for Ellen to admit it but she loves a play well done as much as I do.

"Thank you, Ellen," I squeeze her hand briefly before I let go of her, enjoying this quiet moment between us.

~::~::~

I'm longing to see Fraser appear on that balcony, the same balcony where this whole madness started.

"He jests at scars, that never felt a wound," and there he finally is, not supposed to look down to me but manages to do so anyway.

"But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Julian is the sun! Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou art far more fair than him. It is my Lord O! it is my love: O! That he knew he were."

I say these words like they're meant to be said by me - this Shakespeare guy really knew what he was talking about.

"See! how he leans his cheek upon- his hand: O! that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek."

"Ay me!"

"He speaks: O! speak again, bright angel; for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven ..."

~::~::~

"Great Scott!" Oliver stares at the stage, fascinated by the play although he must've seen it a dozen times in his life at the theatre. But I understand him, and although I'd never admit it, I have to agree with him. I've seen all the great performances before, either live on stage or on tape, I have played Romeo myself, but it is as if I'm seeing the play for the very first time. "What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man." Just the slightest hint of hesitation before "any other part...", just the slightest embarrassed lowering of his eyes - and he nailed that line in all its ambiguity. Fraser adds the other dimension to the play - the stability, the pragmatism, the subtlety. He balances Ray's enthusiastic fury as Julian does for Romeo. "My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite." I smile as I see how seemingly easily they touch, kiss, caress... God, when I think back to all those embarrassed arguments we had during rehearsals when I explained to them that I didn't want a chaste, harmless "Romeo and Julian", until we agreed to only outline those movements until the performance. It had been Fraser's idea, allegedly to deliver all the tension and nervousness. Good Lord, I staged the greatest all-time love story in of the most reputable theatre Canada has to offer - with two laymen playing the lead, only a few weeks of rehearsals and enough improvised scenes to compete with the avant-garde theatres. And instead of being one big chaos it creates a perfect imperfection. Okay, maybe I'm a bit smug. ~::~::~

Fraser.

His fucking lips on mine.

His fucking hands in my hair, under my fucking shirt.

In front of half New fucking Burbage.

By all means: the most spectacular, frightening, hottest moment of my life. Ever.

At least I've had a few minutes to wipe that dopey grin I was wearing after the marriage scene off my face before I have to appear on the stage again.

Concentrate. Breathe.

Geoffrey runs up to me. He places his hands on my shoulders, forces me to look at him so he can give me some last advice for the duel-scene. And, hell, I definitely need someone to remind me that Romeo would most probably not grin like an idiot after he fucked up his life.

"Ray, listen to me", he says and looks directly into my eyes, as if he wanted to etch his voice into mind through his glance. His voice is low, but forceful, forcing me to abandon my thoughts of Fraser for a sec. "In this scene you're going to fall from heaven down to hell from one moment to the next. You married the man of your dreams, you have everything you've ever wanted, you feel as if nothing could possibly harm you. And then your world falls apart.

"Your best friend is slaughtered. You yourself kill Julian's cousin. You could be sentenced to death, forced to abandon your One True Love after you've just won him."

I concentrate on his voice, trying to imagine how I would feel if I lost Fraser now.

"You feel that fate, God and the whole world plotted against you; angry, frustrated and utterly helpless."

I let the words sink in, feel exactly those feelings well up inside me.

"So you sink to your knees and shout your misery into the night, because there's nothing else you can do."

I nod.

"I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I."

My cue. I take another deep breath and step out onto the stage again.

~::~::~

"I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins that almost freezes up the heat of life."

The audience clings to Fraser's lips, as he performs his soliloquy and lets Romeo take the poison.

I saw him looking at Ray and I know if it came down to this he'd act just the same as Julian does. He'd challenge death with steadfast determination although he's dreading the possibly lethal effects of the potion. He'd rather die than face life without his lover and the way he displays both fear and determination brings the audience to breathe in every word he says.

"Romeo, Romeo, Romeo, Here's drink. I drink to thee."

~::~::~

Fraser lies flat on his back, his arms lying at his sides.

I know this sight, I've seen it before, not only when he played the undercover-corpse, but also on our quest, where he lay there like this every evening when he went to sleep and every morning before he woke up. I've never told him, but there was more than one occasion where I checked his breathing during the coldest nights, simply because he looked so... dead.

I crouch next to him, take him in my arms and although I know it's silly I feel a little relieved when he's as warm and alive as ever.

"For here lies Julian", I whisper, "and his beauty makes this vault a feasting presence full of light."

I caress his face and feel him make a small, invisible movement that presses him further against my hand. Really, he makes it damn hard for me to mime the heartbroken, mourning, desperate lover.

I ignore the silky smoothness of his skin and concentrate on my role.

"Death, that has sucked the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou art not conquered. Beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And deaths pale flag is not advancd here."

I can hear a stifled sob coming from the audience and know that I'm on the right track, that I'm still in character, that I only have to hang on for a few more minutes until I can shout my triumph and joy to the world.

"Thus with a kiss I die."

I allow my voice to break and put a shaking kiss onto his lips, then I let myself collapse half on top of him.

Mmm, nice.

I'm glad that my face is buried in the crook of his neck so that the audience can't see the smug grin I'm unable to suppress any longer.

Julian awakes and lifts up, and I have to shift my position a little in order not to end up with my face in his crotch. That bastard did this on purpose. I know it.

"I will kiss thy lips."

He lifts up my face, placing both palms on my cheeks and kisses me again. And I demand the "Self-Control"-badge in gold for not jumping him on the spot.

I count the seconds, while the friar talks and talks, the familes mourn and set peace and the prince finally, finally, says:

"For never was a story of more woe Than this of Julian and his Romeo."

The curtains had to have gone down by now and people start to applaud like mad, but all I really notice are Fraser's hands on my face, his body close to mine and I open my eyes just to drown in the depths of his.

"Ray," he whispers, touching my lips with his and to hell with ... everything. I open up to his questioning tongue and my arms come around him to hold him close.

Then suddenly there is even more cheering and people are all around us dragging us up and apart in front of an audience with tears on their faces.

I find Fraser's hand and together we take our bows, smiling in happiness like the fools that we are when I think about how it took a Shakespearean play to get us together.

The End

Epilogue

Ray's practically shaking with energy when he comes off the stage after the umpteenth encore, his eyes still fixed on Fraser.

"Nicely done," I tell him, questioning that he's even hearing me.

"Nicely done, Geoffrey? I was wondering when they'd start humping each other." I watch them silently walking towards Ray's dressing room. Then I turn to Oliver. "I'd say the answer is: Right now." ~::~::~ I can't let go of Fraser's hand, I can't lose our connection. And I absolutely can't listen to anything but my wild beating heart. Anything at all. So I drag Fraser with me - for once he goes willingly to where I tell him to, even if I can see him nod his head in Geoffrey's direction in apology as we walk by. My dressing room. Finally, privacy. I shut the door behind us, backing Fraser against the door and he breathes as heavily as I do, his pupils wide. "Fraser," I whisper hoarsely, my hands on his face, caressing his cheeks and I can't believe that I'm doing this. Touching him like this. "God," I groan, leaning into him, into his body and I feel Fraser's hands come up, sliding up and down my ribs. "Ray," he whispers and I turn my head towards his neck, inhaling deeply. I don't want this moment to end. Ever. "Ray," Fraser sighs when I nuzzle his ear, taking my time to get real personal with it. But I'm too high on adrenaline and excitement to dwell on it. I want his mouth, his tongue and I want it now. Seems like Fraser wants it too, the way his hands grab my face, pulling my mouth towards his. "Please," he begs, his mouth searching for mine and finally our lips meet in a soft tender kiss. My heart's beating in a rhythms singing finally!finally!finally!, my hands are in Fraser's hair, pulling him closer still while our kiss gets deep and wet and very messy. That guy knows how to use his tongue and I tip my head to the left to get a better angle with the kiss when ... BAM!BAM!BAM! ... Fraser's heart is beating hard against my chest and ... no, it's not his heart. There is someone at the door, knocking, and demanding entrance. "No," I groan against Fraser's lips, not willing to let go just yet. "Ray," Fraser whispers, sliding his thumb over my kiss swollen lips before he pushes us away from the door, separates us to let whoever's out there in. It's Frank and Cyril. And Patrick. Jack and Kate. Geoffrey and Ellen, the whole freaking company. I can't believe this! I did what they told me to, I even enjoyed it, but this, being with Fraser, freakin' alone, is what I want now and I dare to think that it isn't too much to ask for. I glare at everyone - Frank's forcing a glass of champagne on me and Fraser - but no one except Geoffrey seems to get what kind of mood I'm in. He seems sympathetic, but not able to do anything about it when he pets my shoulder, smiling about a job well-done. I feel Fraser standing close behind me, heat coming off his body and I really wish them all to hell, right about NOW! "Look," I start when Fraser touches my arm gently, stopping the harsh words that I feel coming and I sigh. Okay, maybe I can live through this a second longer. But just a second. So, I suffer through their cheering, their hugs and pets when all I wanna do right now is touch Fraser and get touched by him in return. I have waited too fuckin' long for this to happen. Finally I see the door open and no one's coming in, Geoffrey holds it, hushing everyone out and thank God, they go. I shut the door with both hands, resting my head against it in relief when I feel Fraser closing in on me, his big, hot body close to mine. His breath is on my ear and I start smiling like a fool. This was as much a torture for him as for me. "Finally," he whispers, his tongue slipping out to lick my ear and I shiver all-over. "Fraser," I groan, pressing against him when he nuzzles my neck. Lips. Tongue. Teeth. I'm in happy Fraser-land, but as much as I enjoy him assaulting my neck, I want his tongue in my mouth and I suddenly turn around, my hands grabbing his head not so gently, pulling his mouth to mine. Yes! That's it! Wet and agile and so fuckin' good. Our bodies take up the rhythm our kissing sets and we're moving against each other in maddening slow thrusts. God. I groan deep down in my throat and hear Fraser's echo, we're so much in sync, it's fuckin unbelievable. Strong hands on my ribs again, sliding slower, up front and I hiss in surprise when Fraser pops my pants open. "Ray," he asks curiously, stopping his hands from getting my pants undone. "It's good. It's all good," I manage, guiding his hands back, kissing his mouth softly, laughing inside about my own silliness. Fraser is a man - human - and I was worried. I'd have to talk him into this, into making love with me right here in my dressing room. "Ray," Fraser bites down on my neck when he gets my pants down along with my briefs and I have to hold onto him, onto his waist when he gets his own pants undone eagerly and out of the way. I grab him by his hair then, yanking him closer still, his mouth hot on mine, his body heavy against me and he starts thrusting in earnest now. Our cocks line up, sliding smoothly. I have to let go of his mouth, I can't breathe. Fraser pants into my ear, it's deafening but I don't fuckin' care cuz I'm doing this to him. I'm making him thrust against my body, making him come all over my belly with my hands on his hips to encourage him. "Ray," he sinks against me heavily then and I pet his hair gently but still thrusting against his softening cock. It takes him a second to get his breathing in some kind of control, when he starts placing soft kisses all over my face, his capable hands reaching for my still straining erection. I groan deep in my throat, my head falling back against the door and it just takes one stroke down from the base up to my cock's head to make me come all over Fraser's hand. We slide to the ground, tangled up in one another and I've never felt better in my life. "God, Frase," I whisper, pulling him against me, feeling him smile against my chest. "We have to do this again. Soon," I say, grinning foolishly. "A bed would offer ample scope," he agrees, his hands covering as much skin as they can. "We don't have one," I remind him, going over our opportunities at Geoffrey's and Jack's homes. "Not at Jack's and clearly not at Geoffrey's," Fraser interrupts as if he had read my mind. I sigh deeply, I can't wait until we're in Chicago again. No way! Not after this! "I'm certain my income can provide us with a comfortable hotel room, Ray." "There is always my dressing room," I grin at him when he lifts his head off my chest, smiling. "Tomorrow then," Fraser kisses me softly and I can't wait until tomorrow after our next show here in New Burbage, Canada.

The End End

Bonus Material - Unreleased Scenes

Ray: ,,Fraser? " Fraser: ,,Yes, Ray? " Ray: ,,Are they gone? " Fraser: ,,Who? " Ray: ,,The Germans. " Sam and Anja: *look at each other and hide hastily behind curtains* Fraser: "Yes, Ray, I think so." Ray: "So we're all alone, huh?" Fraser: "Yes, Ray." Ray: "So, will you fuck me already?" Sam: *stares, mutters* "Weren't they supposed to wait until after the performance?" Anja: *looks into at script* "Yes, they're not supposed to do anything until page 32." Sam: *stares at them* Anja: *hesitating* "Maybe we should stop them...?" Sam: *continues staring* "Yeah, we really should." Anja: *not moving* "Immediately." Sam: "Uh-huh."

*long pause*

Ray: *lights cigarette* Anja: (to Sam) "Fuck, he smokes?" Sam: "Forget it, I won't rewrite the script!"

~~~

Sam: "This is getting out of hand." Anja: "Definitely."

~~~

Anja: "Ellen...?" *gulps* "Uhm... I... ah... can I talk to you?" Ellen: "What is it?" Anja: *winning smile* "I have great news for you!" Ellen: *looks questioning* Anja: "You see, I had a little chat with Sam. And we thought that the part of Lady Capulet is really not... important enough for an actress of your calibre." Ellen: *looks pleased* Anja: "So we decided, that is, Sam decided..." Sam: *threatens with fist from behind the stage* Anja: *quickly* "...that you could play the nurse." Ellen: *glares* Anja: "Cool, huh?" Ellen: *takes a deep breath* Anja: "Well, uhm, congrats and everything. I've...!" Ellen: "You realize I have to kill you." Anja: *gulps hard* "It was Sam's idea, honestly!" Sam: *rolls eyes* Anja: "Uhm, hey, Ellen, what do you think? I'll write you a scene in which you attack Geoff with a dagger!" Ellen: "Are you trying to bribe me?" Anja: "No." *thinks* "Yes." Ellen: "A real dagger?" Anja: "No. He's one of the fucking protagonists, I won't let you stab him!" Ellen: *thinks about it* "Okay. But I wanna have a sex-scene with him, too." Anja: "NC-17? No way, Sam's much too prudish!" Sam: *mouths* "Me??? You little..." Ellen: "All right: R." Anja: "How about PG-13?" Ellen: *louder* "R!"

*10 minutes later*

Sam: "Bitch!"

~~~

Geoffrey: "Sam, why exactly would I stage something like "Romeo & Julian."

Sam: "Because of its artistic value."

Geoffrey: "Ah." *pauses* "Do you think along the lines that the contrast between the Petrarchan love on the one and Shakespeare's "ideal" love on the other hand is emphasized by the comparison of Rosaline and Julian?"

Sam: *stares* "Uhm... Yes! *tries to think of something intelligent to say* "But also, two men are HOT!!!" *beams*

Geoffrey: *stares*

Sam: *blushes* "I mean, a hot topic... society-wise..."

Geoffrey: *grins* Uh-huh...

Sam: "..."Hot" from a purely intellectual point of view..."

Geoffrey: *TIC* I know exactly what you mean."

Sam: I gotta go! *runs*

~~~

Anja (to Jerry): "Break a leg!" *laughs hysterically*

Sam: *headdesk*

~~~

Jerry: "Why don't I have a last name?"

Unimportant Supporting Character: "Why are you complaining? I don't even have a first name!"

Jerry: "Yeah, but you're just standing around. I break my leg, for heaven's sake. They could appreciate that a little more."

USC: "Stop whining."

*pause*

Jerry: "Give me a blowjob?"

USC: "Why not the other way round?"

Jerry: "You're the one who as an abbreviation for a name! So I think the hierarchy is set."

USC: *sulking* "'kay. Drop your pants."

Sam: *runs in* Stop it!

Jerry & USC: "Why?"

Sam: (to USC): "You're a homophobic protester!"

USC: "Am I?"

Sam: "Yes."

USC: *smacks Jerry* "You goddamn faggot, get your hands off me!"

Sam: *satisfied* "Now you're in character!

~~~

Sam: "Oliver, the next time I find you hiding in Ben's dressing room, waiting for him to get undressed, I'll pop you one!"

Oliver: "Why are you so aggressive?"

Sam: *screams* "Because there's only one goddamn hiding space and that's MINE!"

Oliver: "We could take turns..."

Sam: "NO!"

Oliver: *whines* "But..."

Sam: "Who is the author?"

Oliver: *sighes resigned* "You."

Sam: "And what will I do when you refuse to obey?"

Oliver: "You'll give me a background story in which I fuck Maria."

Sam: *smug* "Exactly. So..." *shushes him away* "Go and annoy Geoff." *enters dressing room and hides*

~~~

Ellen: ,,Geoffrey? "

Geoffrey: ,,Yes? "

Ellen: ,,Good news. I got us a sex scene. "

Geoffrey: *beams*

Ellen: *hushed* "...but its R rated."

Geoffrey: "What the fuck...?"

Ellen: "So it's more "making out", I guess."

Geoffrey: "Meaning no pants dropping?"

Ellen: "I think so."

Geoffrey: *tries to stab himself with a pencil*

~~~

Geoffrey: "Oliver. Fuck. Off."

Oliver: "Come on, Geoff, we're off stage, you don't have to pretend you don't like me."

Geoffrey: "Oh... sorry, dear."

Fraser: *comes along* "Excuse me, Geoffrey, you wouldn't happen to have seen Ray, would you?"

Geoffrey: "Sorry, no, I..."

Paul: *comes along* "Afternoon!"

Geoffrey: "Who the hell are you?"

Paul: "Paul Gross, Actor, Writer, Director, Producer, Rock star and God's gift to women. I'll play the lead from now on."

Geoffrey: "..."

Fraser: "..."

Oliver: *stares back and forth between Fraser, Geoffrey and Paul* "Heaven is a place on earth..."

Anja: *runs in* "Paul, there you are!" (to Fraser and Geoff) "Sorry, he's so hard to keep under control"

Geoffrey: "He'll play the lead?"

Anja: *drags Paul away* "No, no, misunderstanding." (to Paul) "Now you'll go back to my RPS story and give Callum a nice inferiority complex, will you?"

~~~

Ray: *reads*

Sam: *steps in*

Ray: *hides book*

Sam: "Hi Ray, I... have you been reading again?"

Ray: *innocently* "No..."

Sam: *grabs book* "Ther nas baillif, ne hierde, nor oother hyne, That he ne knew his sleighte and his covyne... The Canterbury Tales?"

Ray: *lowers eyes in shame* "Yes..."

Sam: "That's so out of character! Fraser can read Chaucer. Geoffrey and Oliver maybe, but not you!

Ray: "But I..."

Sam: "No buts! Here..." *throws Auto-Motor-Sport at him* "This is Ray-literature!"

Ray: "Not again!"

~~~

Paul: "Oh, the year was 1778 How I wish I was in Sherbrook now..."

Ray: *whispers* "Who is that?"

Geoff: "Someone Anja's fantasy life made up."

Paul: "...God damn them all..."

Ray: "Strange girl, isn't she?"

Geoff: "Yep."

*pause*

Geoff: "Let's get a beer, eh?"

Ray: "Yup."

Geoff and Ray: *leave*

Paul: "I was told we'd cruise the seas..."

~~~

Ray: "Why are they staring at us?"

Fraser: "I believe they want us to do something."

Ray: "And who are they?"

Fraser: "They are called "readers", I think."

Ray: "Are they dangerous?"

Fraser: "Well, if they don't comment we have to die, Ray."

Ray: "Why?"

Fraser: "Because if they don't give feedback Anja and Sam will ban us from their minds and then we... die."

Ray: "Holy shit! What can we do to make them feedback?"

Fraser: "We could insult them..."

Ray: "Okay..." *prepares to insult*

Fraser: "...but then it could get very, very hot in here."

Ray: "Why hot?"

Fraser: "Because of all the flames."

Ray: "They can produce flames?"

Fraser: "Yes."

Ray: "Scary. What else can we do?"

Fraser: "I could strip you naked, tie you to the bed and spank your bottom."

Ray: "They'd like that?"

Fraser: "Indeed."

Ray: *thinks* "Okay, let's do it."

*15 minutes later*

Ray: "Where's all this saliva coming from?" *whispers* "Uhm, this is saliva, right?"

~~~

Find your light, say your lines. If you can't find your light, shout your lines from the shadows.

**Author's Note:**

> This is co-written with missapocalyptic.


End file.
